How to build a common feeling

"Queer" is the identity concept that has been at the forefront of global discussions on sex and gender. But how can we talk about our struggles without falling into the historic colonialism that imposes terms and words, universalizing us as subjects? How can we refer to ourselves and find a common feeling without erasing our identities, histories, and territorial ties?

I am a Latinx immigrant in the territory of Tkaronto, Canada. I haven't been here long, I have no networks, and this city and culture are completely unfamiliar to me.

I am a 21st-century Latinx immigrant, part of a hyper-connected world through the internet, capable of using technological dependence as a tool to create community, politics, and activism. I wonder, then, if dating apps can serve as a bridge to this territory—a way to meet people to embrace in the middle of the Global North's winter: Grindr, Tinder, Scruff.

It is February 2025, and in Argentina, LGBTIQA+ communities are mobilizing and organizing to launch a wave of mass protests triggered by the rhetoric of Javier Milei—an echo of the global rise of the far right and the potential threat of losing our hard-won rights. Similar patterns have emerged in the U.S. with Trump, in Spain with Vox, and in Chile with Kast. The distance from my community makes me nostalgic, and not being present at the protests makes me think about how I can send a message—not just to them, but to all of us threatened by this political shift. I feel the urge to shout loud and clear: ¡Lucha Marika! ¡Resiste! ¡Hazle frente al fascismo!

How do you say in your language, "Queer, fight!"?

That’s my new bio on dating apps.

I realize that Tkaronto is a city with a high percentage of immigrants (46.6% in 2021), with people from China, the Philippines, India, Palestine, Sri Lanka, Somalia, Colombia, Chile, Venezuela, Guyana, Ireland, Italy, and more. A city with a wide representation of other territories, but where those cultural boundaries remain unbroken.

I start conversations with those who respond to my question, getting to know sex-dissident communities in their own contexts. I come to understand that “queer” does not fully represent our diversity, but we still need a common space for a common feeling. Marikas, monas, baklas, froci, and teplouš emerge, among others, as political subjects to whom we must say: Fight!

Seeking to send this message to as many people as possible, and with the collaboration of an immigrant network, I can finally say:

Lucha Marika! Queer, fight! Reage, mona! विचित्र झगड़ा करना Mga bakla, away! ‘“礞吤蕫ㄐTeploušsíla! Πουστάρα, αγωνίσου! PD, debout! Froci, all’attacco! Schwuchteln, kämpft! Пидоры, в бой! 囿垂徊｝戦爸! Stabanes, phambili! Kuchus, msimame! Yan Daudu, no go gree! 諄錶塭, 襪橫菟! همجنس‌گرا، مبارزه! 

Este artículo es parte de The Posttraumatic VOL.9 "USA INVADE EEUU".

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